


Renewal

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7360825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis tells Porthos about kissing Sylvie. (Coda fic for 3x02)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renewal

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone comments with something offensive about Sylvie, I'll be extremely unhappy. So just don't, please.
> 
>  **ETA:** JL drew [beautiful and stunning fanart for this fic](http://jlsdrawings.tumblr.com/post/146801557269/i-love-you-aramis-whispers-and-holds-his) so go look at it and go ;o; like I did because ahhhh so pretty.

“And then what?” Porthos prompts. 

“… And then she stole my gun,” Aramis admits. 

For half a moment, he fears that Porthos will get angry. It’s been difficult, really, to get a proper read on him since their reunion. One moment he seems happy and the next – angry, withdrawn, inside of himself. Aramis knows how to be patient, despite jokes to the contrary. He knows when to wait. And Porthos has always been worth waiting for. It has always been Porthos’ steps he follows, has always let Porthos set the pace for them. That’s even more important here and now, with their time together building again – a tentative rebuilding of that web. 

But instead of growing angry with him, as Aramis had feared, Porthos just laughs. Ducks his head, his lips twitching before twisting up into a wide grin that splits his face open, that makes him look far younger than Aramis can remember. His shoulders shake. God, they’ve known each other for so long. He remembers this face, laughing and smiling, before he ever had lines at the corners of his eyes, before he had so many scars. He’s seen Porthos laughing for years now – and it never fails to take his breath away. 

Aramis shakes his head, just barely, banishing those thoughts. Instead, he laughs, too. He feels a little delirious with it, drunk on the relief of being here, now, with Porthos. Laughing with Porthos. 

“In my defense,” Aramis says once their laughter dies down, “she didn’t get the key.” 

He told Porthos the story of Sylvie’s escape in the hopes of smoothing a path. It seems to have worked, at least for a time. Porthos chuckles to himself, rolling his shoulder absently. It seems he’s tweaked it from carrying the grain. He hasn’t admitted as much, but Aramis can guess. He knows Porthos, after all. He knows his pride. His beating heart. 

“She was that good of a kisser, eh?” Porthos asks with a deep, honeyed chuckle that coils tight in Aramis’ gut and nestles there, never to be removed. He knows that laugh. He knows that smile. He can’t tear his eyes away from Porthos. 

He clears his throat, feels his cheeks heat – and feels like he’s a young man again, fumbling his way through this. “It… has been _quite_ a while, my friend.” 

He hopes for more teasing, more laughter, but Porthos’ laughter dims slowly with a thoughtful grunt. Porthos doesn’t look angry – only thoughtful. 

The unspoken words weigh between them both. Aramis knows to be patient. Knows, just as deeply, how completely he wanted to lean over and kiss Porthos when they were both sprawled out on their backs in the forest, just outside the monastery. He also remembers wanting to kiss him once they were back in Paris, the four of them collected around their old domain in the tavern, everything different – including themselves. He remembers wanting to kiss Porthos when saying goodnight and parting ways to their quarters. He remembers wanting to kiss Porthos each night they’ve spent in one another’s company. He remembers wanting to kiss Porthos watching him bite into a fruit for the first time in months and closing his eyes with a grateful sigh. He knows with vivid detail just how many times he’s wanted to kiss Porthos since meeting with him again. It is a physical ache in his chest. 

And he also knows it isn’t his place to do so. He can wait, though. He can be patient. 

He remembers looking at Porthos in the forest, their laughter dimming – remembers wishing, concretely, how desperately he wanted Porthos to lean in and kiss him. He thinks he remembers seeing that desire in Porthos’ eyes, too – but also remembers Porthos turning away, pulling himself to his feet and then offering his hand to Aramis. 

He remembers looking at Porthos in the candlelight in their room, some cards spread out between them, a peach’s pit rolling along the tabletop. He remembers wanting to climb up onto the table and lean forward, kiss Porthos like he’s always kissed him. He thinks he remembers seeing that desire in Porthos’ eyes, too – but also remembers Porthos ducking his head and collecting the cards to shuffle them and deal a new game between them. 

Aramis knows how to be patient. He knows how to wait. 

“You really hadn’t kissed anyone before her?” Porthos asks, genuinely asking. 

Aramis laughs, slightly nervous and self-conscious. “There were hardly many people to kiss when you are in service to God, my dear Porthos.” 

Porthos’ face twists up for a moment, closing off, and Aramis’ heart leaps into his throat. He’s been careful with his mentions of the monastery, knowing that each time it means this: Porthos’ twisting unhappiness. But it soon passes and Porthos looks thoughtful again, drumming his fingertips against his belt with a small hum. 

“So it’d been years,” Porthos says, thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Aramis answers and finds himself blushing again – and feels foolish for it. Kissing Sylvie had been lovely – slow and gentle, and even if it meant her stealing his gun, it also meant feeling alive again, his heart lodging up into his throat, her soft mouth against his, the flick of a tongue, the scrape of teeth. He almost makes a sound thinking about it. 

“Did you miss it?” Porthos asks.

Aramis shrugs, almost does not answer for fear of upsetting him. But he has only ever been honest with him – and it should not be different now. 

“Perhaps a little, at first,” he says and does not say, _because I could only think about you,_ and instead adds, “But my reasons were good. I’m actually able to follow the rules of chastity, it seems.” 

Porthos doesn’t get upset – and Aramis is grateful for it, watching his face carefully. Porthos only hums out and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms with a furrow of his brow. He knows this expression – it is not anger, not frustration. It’s curiosity, wanting to learn. Porthos always was so good at asking questions, learning what he needs to learn. 

Aramis’ heart feels light. 

“Was it worth it, then?” Porthos asks and at Aramis’ look, he clarifies, “Kissing her.” 

“Mm,” Aramis sighs out. “It was lovely.” 

Porthos chuckles again, quiet and graveled. Aramis’ knees feel weak. 

“Good,” Porthos says, after a moment. “You deserve to be happy.”

He tilts his head, his expression softening in a way that it hasn’t since they’ve returned to Paris – some of the hard lines at the corners of his mouth smoothing out, the pinch of his brow disappearing. 

Aramis dares to take a step closer. Porthos’ smile softens. Aramis swallows and walks closer to him, leaning against the wall beside him. Porthos turns so that he’s facing him, shoulder to the wall. They stay like that, leaning into each other’s space. 

“Porthos,” Aramis starts – and then lets trail off. He sighs out. He lifts his hand, placing it on Porthos’ arm. “I am happy… you must know that.” 

“Bet if you play your cards right, you can get to know Sylvie better,” Porthos says. 

Aramis sniffs. “She seems to have made the very strange choice of Athos over me. I hardly understand it.”

He turns his nose up if only for the chance to get Porthos to laugh. He does, and it fuels him on. Now that he’s laughed this much in his presence since he has in weeks, he’s desperate to keep it going. He squeezes Porthos’ arm and feels him leaning into the touch. Encouraged, he lets his hand linger, lets himself drift a little closer near him. 

“Besides,” Aramis says, quietly, “I’m already happy. Like this.”

He says it slowly, cautiously – studying Porthos’ face. 

Porthos blinks at him. And then laughs – his smile turning up one corner of his mouth. Shy. He looks shy. It feels, quite suddenly, like ten years ago – the first time Aramis ever flirted with him. It took Porthos so long to realize, and then—

“Me too,” Porthos says, soft and uncertain. He looks at Aramis expectantly. Of what, Aramis isn’t sure. 

He swallows down. 

He could tell him he loves him, he thinks. In this moment, he can say it. 

“Good,” Aramis sighs. 

They stand there in a long silence. And then—

“I love you,” Aramis whispers and holds his breath.

Porthos stares at him for a moment, his own breath hitching – and for one terrifying moment, Aramis thinks he’s miscalculated, that he’s stepped out of their self-drawn lines, that he’s ruined something. 

Porthos steps to him and lifts his hands, cupping Aramis’ cheeks – stroking his thumbs over them before sliding his fingers back into his hair. He tips his face up so that he can kiss him. The feel of his skin, warm against his, is familiar – just as he remembers it, even after all these years. His breath hitches again when Porthos’ mouth slants across his. 

Porthos kisses him like the first time they ever kissed – gentle and passionate and slightly off-center, but no less welcomed, no less perfect. He loses himself in that kiss, feels himself sink forward and lean against the steadying weight and bulk of Porthos’ chest. His hands curl at his shoulders and he feels his breath hiccup for a moment before he presses closer and kisses him more, loses himself in the kiss. 

Porthos does not speak the words, but his mouth moves against his, words forming in breathless whispers between him, pressing to his teeth, the slide of his tongue. Aramis can be patient. He can wait. He knows how to do that. 

When they part, Porthos presses his forehead to his, his hands still touching his cheeks, thumbs at his cheekbones. 

“Sorry I couldn’t be the first,” Porthos says, without much regret.

Aramis hiccups another small laugh, feeling almost hysterical. 

“I find that I’m,” he laughs out again, shivering, and collects himself, “in a forgiving mood, just this once. You could always make up for lost time, my friend.” 

Porthos chuckles, deep and honeyed again, and Aramis only just resists shuddering in desire before Porthos leans in and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you need to reach me, I can be found on [my tumblr.](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/)


End file.
